We started on the bed,
With hushed tones.
Hesitant on how to tread.
Still, an urge within our bones.

At first it was soft gazes,
Even softer gasps.
Like a fire that blazes,
Embraced in a heated clasp.

The heat of soft lips,
Pressing down, leaving trails
Along soft ******* and hips.
I took in all the details.

Then night after night,
I would see the marks,
The bruises, the bites
Within dips and arcs.

It couldn't stop there,
I never wanted it to.
Though I doubted to care,
For the things you could do.

Now I lay sated,
Awaiting the next encounter.
The next fire to be created
With flames that devour.

...
My Spirit, I dropped
My neck, how tragic!—
Oh, why was I doomed?—
What a shame of love,—
Beset me for living
How poor was my trial?—
That king caught me— Just to be his vice!
Surely, I was a noble queen—
'Til the justice defied me..

Coined by 30 years,— Now deriving for 25 years,
This automatic era seemed haste for me,— Where people work less with limbs,— And more with chained machines
All tenses are verbose,— of such faint vision;— When all the dots meet,—
Perhaps, gallops are faster than wheels.
--...
Whenever I daze in my reflection,
I morbidly feel the bruised mark on my pelvis,— whence Homer penetrated it,— And this slit scar on my nape— of my husband's infidelity
Oh fate, may thou all wrath in flames..

I was not an outlaw!—
Thou all praised a sculpture,—
And smashed it, when it was bore!
Thou bidded swears— To a bedswerver's norms!
My downfall revealed thy disgraced offerings— Traitors!

—My poor, poor queen— Do not weep,
    For I shall be great,— This lady will
    dissect the hypocrites, and clothe
    the faithful—
    I shall be the image of your tragedy
    and glory
    This is the order of my commitment
    I am a ponent;
    I am a defender.

Quote our testament:
"We art the culprits and victims of our own plot. If an admiring rogue invades thy core, it shall weakened thou as culprit into an ever victim— To be held in judgment, and to be both perceived as no innocent."

—The conviction of worldly accomplices,
    This shall be the vengeance of an obsolete sentence.—

Altaira, with me,—
Thou art neither a corpse—
Nor a bit of ash;
'Tis the time for ruling
Your Majesty—
Cheers to the jury..

This sense of dread,
Creeps through my mind,
Like a fire burns a forest,
Leaving nothing behind.

An unknown future,
A painful past;
Yet I cannot live in the moment,
For it moves too fast.

All that I crave,
Is a version of peace.
To break painful bonds,
For sorrow to cease.

But burned in the flame,
My mind has become mad.
Only ashes remain,
My solitary emotion is "sad".

My existence is frightening.
At night, I cannot sleep.
There can be no redemption,
Nor demons to reap.

No end is in sight,
To this constant tumolt.
No one to blame,
For it is only my fault.

So along this unending road,
I will go forever.
Shackled by my pain,
Tied to this endeavor.